


this must be my dream

by red__moon



Series: brief inquiries. [1]
Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, First Meetings, House Party, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Oral Sex, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red__moon/pseuds/red__moon
Summary: Imagine the aftermath of a party: a wrecked flat, overflowing ashtrays and snores at sunrise. Alice is watching a pretty boy sleep in the kitchen while she smokes out on the balcony. The idea of having this boy seems too good to be true - until he wakes up, and then the day that follows is like a dream.(Not necessarily an AU - presumably some time in 2015?)Alice can’t help but be impressed. She already wants this boy - that is how she will think of him, since although he is easily in his mid-twenties, she finds many 'men' to be possessive and intimidating, and yet she already feels sure this one would not be so. She wants a boy like this, to feel equal to as a girl, and perhaps also to push his lips and body against hers and align perfectly. But for all she knows, this one will open his eyes and disappoint, either through his nature, or the change of his expression, or even later, by the clashing, uncomfortable touch that alludes to an incompatible coupling.
Relationships: Matthew Healy/Original Female Character(s)
Series: brief inquiries. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925500
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	this must be my dream

**Author's Note:**

> NONE OF THIS WRITING IS INTENDED TO BE IN ANY WAY REPRESENTATIVE

The flat is corrupted with cigarette smoke. It infiltrates the sofa cushions, the porous plaster in the walls. A stained coffee table is littered with beer cans, mostly empty except for one that has toppled over over the course of the night, and soaked the pages of Catch 22 a grubby, sepia brown with its contents.

She picks her way across the carpet. There is precious little floor space to tread on; record sleeves slip and slide under her socks, and her toe brushes the leg of a sleeper. They grunt - she apologises, but the words fall on deaf ears. Alice doesn’t know the faces that are scattered throughout the apartment, contorted by dreams and snores. Some are beautiful and handsome, others vaguely repulsive to her, or just plain, but all unknown quantities, safely observed as though preserved in aspic.

The table in the hallway is precariously loaded, its surface crammed with more cans, glasses and one ashtray that is still smoking slightly from the last half-stubbed rollie that has been dropped there. Alice lifts this out of the mire, tiptoeing to the balcony in the kitchen and discarding the contents into downstairs’ garden.

Only one person remains in the kitchen. It is the only room with no soft furnishings to crash out upon, a fact that has not deterred this young man, who is dead to the world, despite being propped up on a cheap, hard Ikea chair. His jacket is bundled up between his head and the wall, the only concession to comfort. Alice silently lowers herself onto the chair that is pulled out at the opposite side of the table and rolls a cigarette.

She pauses in between deft actions; a sprinkle here, a lick there, and every other second, a glance up. It is a tantalising opportunity to stare, the way that is hardly acceptable, under normal circumstances. This man - barely that - is utterly still in repose, his features sharply outlined by dark lashes and neat contours. The angled nose and full upper lip would seem remarkably feminine, if not for the slightly furrowed brow and subtle groove in his chin, which rests just above his shoulder.

Alice can’t help but be impressed. She already wants this boy - that is how she will think of him, since although he is easily in his mid-twenties, she finds many 'men' to be possessive and intimidating, and yet she already feels sure this one would not be so. She wants a boy like this, to feel equal to as a girl, and perhaps also to push his lips and body against hers and align perfectly. But for all she knows, this one will open his eyes and disappoint, either through his nature, or the change of his expression, or even later, by the clashing, uncomfortable touch that alludes to an incompatible coupling. She puts the cigarette between her lips and lights it as quietly as she can, turning away to exhale out on the balcony.

His eyes open, slowly at first, and then with a flutter. The kitchen itself is practically a blank room, all white goods and formica surfaces. An overflowing bin in the corner encroaches upon a small puddle formed where somebody has dropped an ice tray dug out of the freezer. The sunrise has flooded the kitchen within minutes; it is the piercing streak of light that has broken his sleep and disturbed a dream which involved which involved, somewhat implausibly, Michael Jackson doing stand-up comedy in the Albert Hall.

He spots her quickly, leaning over the balcony and gazing into the thicket of weeds below. She strains downwards and reaches out a twitching hand, making chirping sounds, and he realises that she is watching a cat make its way along the wall. This lasts only a second or two before she sighs, stands upright and stubs the end of her cigarette out on the balcony railing. For a second, Matty contemplates whether to close his eyes again and feign sleep, or deal with a brief moment of social awkwardness, just to satisfy his curiosity. He chooses the latter.

_When I walk back inside, I’m almost sad that the Boy is awake, since I enjoyed the voyeurism so much. Pausing in the doorway means that it’s impossible to breeze past with a glance and pretend I’ve barely noticed; now I have to say something._

_‘Morning.’_

_‘Morning,’ he repeats back, blearily. He sounds worse for wear, but who wouldn’t, after last night? ‘Not sure anyone is supposed to look that bright-eyed after a party.’_

_‘I know,’ I reply. ‘Don’t think I properly enjoyed myself.’_

_‘That’s terrible,’ he grins wryly, and uncrosses his legs, pulling his jacket onto his lap and facing me properly. A glossy ringlet of black hair falls over his forehead and he sweeps it back reflexively. The overall effect is quite charming. I busy myself with inspecting the glasses left on the sideboard, checking if any can be easily rinsed so I can drink some water._

_‘I’m rubbish at that sort of decadence. You go too far and chuck up in a bush, and then you wish you were somewhere else for the rest of the night.’_

_‘Chucking up in a bush is usually just the start.’_

_‘Yuck.’ I turn my head a little, catching his eye when I laugh and purposely turning back a beat too late to be casual._

_He gets to his feet, holding a clean glass. ‘This what you’re looking for? It was on the table.’_

_‘Thanks,’ I pour it full of water and drink, quickly and unselfconsciously._

_‘May I?’ He holds a hand out (skinny wrist and elegant fingers, I note) and I expect him to refill the glass, but he drinks the rest of mine before doing so. It seems an oddly intimate thing to do, and I begin to wonder if he is flirting. An odd time, I think, since most people hook up in the dead of night. But I’m not complaining - far from it._

_‘I don’t remember seeing you last night,’ he comments._

_‘Oh dear… is that a good or a bad thing?’_

_‘Just a shame.’ Definitely flirting. ‘Though I was struggling to focus my eyes on any face last night. It’s not usually so easy to speak to someone new in the cold, hard light of day.’_

_‘Are you hungover then?’_

_‘A little.’_

_I grin, locating a gin bottle that contains enough remains for a shot or two. ‘Hair of the dog, isn’t that what they call it?’ I wrench the freezer door open, snapping a shard of ice off the block that sits in the top drawer. ‘Are there any mixers?’_

_‘Now? I doubt it.’ The Boy insouciantly tosses a lemon from hand to hand, one that he has snatched from the fruit bowl. ‘I haven’t chucked up yet, but this might just do it for me.’_

_‘No harm done.’ I clean a knife in the sink and cut the lemon in half, squeezing all the juice into the glass on top of the gin and ice. The sour taste is enough to mask the way that the spirit catches in the throat; I cough anyway. He shares it, and I watch him bring the glass to his lips, pulling a silly face as if to say this is atrocious, but what the hell . ‘Practically a martini?’_

_‘Ian Fleming would roll in his grave.’_

_‘Never mind that, my stomach is doing fucking flips. But it’s kind of good, right?’_

_‘Alright, I’m exaggerating. Yes, it’s pretty good.’_

_‘Finish it then.’ I thrust the glass into his chest, and he grimaces._

_‘I’m going to regret this.’_

_But he does finish it, and I watch carefully as he tips his head to catch the last drops, his pale throat convulsing. I am struck with a mental image of pressing my mouth against it, summoning an expression of ecstasy on his face._

Luckily for Alice, the Boy - Matty - is struck with her too. He is fascinated by her confident manner, and he can tell that she is interested in him anyway, which makes the whole situation more thrilling. It helps that her hair is swept up elegantly to reveal a slender neck that is circled with a heavy chain necklace. The dark makeup around her eyes has smudged slightly, and he can glimpse the pale collarbones beneath the red t-shirt she wears. This is a Very Cool Girl, without a doubt.

Alice rolls another cigarette, and they share it on the balcony. She admires his expressiveness, like the way his entire face creases up when he smiles, unafraid to display enthusiasm. As they talk, they share the cigarette; she gets a vague thrill when she puts it between her lips and feels the moisture from his own still left there.

Matty stubs out the remains as a phone rings. Alice extracts it from her pocket and pulls an apologetic face.

‘Hey… yeah, I’m okay. What time? Sounds fine. I’m out… a party from last night, I crashed out in an armchair. About half an hour. Alright, see you then.’

In answer to his expectant gaze, she shrugs half-heartedly. ‘So that was my flatmate. I need to get home.’

‘Urgent?’

‘No. But necessary.’

‘Okay. Well.’ He is stalling for time, and she can tell; she wants to string these seconds out, make them achingly long. ‘I’m sorry if this is weird but… are you around later?’

‘Yes,’ she responds, a beat too quickly, but it is barely noticeable. Her throat constricts as she restrains herself from saying more, and she feels slightly dizzy.

They make an arrangement. She will call when she is free. Matty has put his number into her phone, so there is some element of trust involved, but he is self-assured enough to feel confident in their plan.

_It’s the most satisfying thing. These things rarely happen, they are rarely reciprocated. But the magnetic, charismatic Boy - Matty - has not disappointed. There is time for that, I reason, but I’m not really a pessimist._

_There’s some hassle from the landlord. I leave it to my flatmates to deal with, and I feel a bit shit about it, but Lou doesn’t hold it against me, and she seems to have it under control. I go out for my lunch to get away from it, but I’m not as hungry as I normally am. My appetite has a tendency to be disrupted by any stress, exciting or otherwise. The urge to imagine a range of possible situations later that day has to be violently suppressed, or else typically none of them would happen._

_So I leave the crusts of my sandwich in the cafe, like a child, and toss back the dregs of my coffee. It’s a greasy spoon, but the sort that takes contactless, and therefore won’t be pushed out in the next wave of gentrification in the area. I take out my phone and glance around. It’s just busy enough that I won’t hear my own voice too distinctly, so I feel comfortable making the call._

_He picks up after three rings, which I judge to be a good sign. ‘Hey,’ he sounds perky - as though he is smiling whilst speaking._

_‘Were you afraid I wouldn’t call?’ I'm having a hard time keeping the smile out of my own voice._

_‘Never. Everything okay?’_

_‘Yes, sorted. I’ll be free in an hour or so.’_

_‘Where we agreed?’_

_‘Sure.’_

_As is the case with any recent acquaintance, the details of his face have already fallen into a vague fog in my mind. The memory of him is all dark curls, dark clothes and lankiness; despite not being able to picture the shapely, definite line of his mouth, I know I shall be taken aback all over again when it is in front of me._

Once home again, Alice feels self-conscious getting changed, as if she is judging herself in the third person for the choices she is making. Better informal, she concludes; since he warmed to her in a dishevelled state that morning, it seemed best not to be too far altered from that. The jeans remain, the red t-shirt swapped out for a pale yellow, and when she tugs her ponytail out, the rich brown hair falls to rest starkly on her shoulders.

She picks up some cans from an off-licence, acutely aware of repeating an action from teenage years. But if it was good enough at the party, it would be good enough in the park. The sun is just starting to set; it has been a glorious day, the tail end of a recent heatwave. The expanse of grass is empty, bar a few kids larking about and some dogs chasing each other down the other end, walkers following behind and as small as insects from this far away. A food truck wafts the smell of chip oil about a hundred yards in every direction, the sizzle just audible from Alice’s bench.

She sits cross-legged, scrolling through her phone between swigs of the cheap beer. It doesn’t take him long to spot her, though he withholds a greeting until he is close enough to see her face. When she looks up and the curtain of hair swings back to reveal her smile, there is no mistaking it. Freckled and sculpted like an angel, he wonders if she knows the effect she has - at least on him, if not on others, for if his companions at the party hadn’t noticed, they must have been raving mad.

If she is affected by the sight of him, she hides it well. She cracks open one of the cans for him, and they stretch out on the grass, picking up where they left off that morning.

They barely notice the darkness encroaching across the sky. Matty is splayed out on his back, his jacket tucked under his head the way it was that morning. Alice lies on her stomach beside him, dissecting a patch of clover in front of her as they talk music and film and politics. They gossip about mutual friends and share small stories to make each other laugh. It feels entirely natural, too, because there are these little links; they have been in the same place at the same time, without meeting. Both find this fascinating. It is already hard to imagine being oblivious to each other's existence.

Alice sits up, tipping up her can so the last remnants of beer trickle into her mouth. It is dark enough that Matty can observe her do this with impunity. 'That's all of them. Is there much left of yours?' She leans over him, stretching an arm across his legs to the can that nestles in the grass nearby.

'About half. Finish it if you want, I've had one more than you anyway.'

She does as he suggests.

'Do you think I should let this grow? Or trim it back?' He is pulling at the locks of hair over his forehead, frowning upwards.

'Don't touch it,' Alice replies, faster than she intended. 'And doesn't it take ages to get long when it's that curly?'

'Yeah. Why shouldn't I touch it?' He pursues, fishing for something she is trying, and failing, not to admit.

'It's…' Alice turns her head, pretending to squint into the distance to observe the car lights on the distant road. ‘Charming. It’s your calling card, you know? The first thing people notice. There’s no need to diminish it.’

She has done well - it’s a maddeningly subtle compliment, so much that Matty knows he is taking a risk as he sits up, bringing his face closer to hers. The beer has made him confident to the point of brazenness; Alice turns her head quickly, sensing him close by, and her breath catches in her throat.

But he won’t lean in yet. What a wuss, Alice laments. Still, the beer has had an identical effect on her too, and she secretly relishes being the assertive party.

It’s shaky for half a second, like most first kisses. A light touch of the lips, a twitch away, before more solid, assured pressure is applied at last.

_Matty is the only boy I have encountered who can be described as a considerate kisser. He moves slowly, although I am pleased to feel his tongue between his lips and then tasting mine, which I like, since kisses never seem to hit their stride until a tongue makes an appearance, whatever the romantics say. He understands the importance of pace (slow) and breath (in time), which turns me on all the more. All attention is focused on our mouths and deriving the most enjoyment possible from what they are doing. It is a pleasant surprise when his cool hand touches the back of my neck and slips around to where my jawline meets the back of my ear; my shoulders roll back slightly at the tingling sensation that this generates. His mouth opens a little wider, to the point where we are now truly making out._

_I could worship his mouth for hours if given the chance, but am suddenly, horribly aware of what I should do with my hands. Reaching up to feel his hair feels fetishistic - there is time enough for me to comb my fingers through that. I settle for resting a hand on his denim-clad thigh, letting it splay quite high up across his leg to be a little bit suggestive. He pulls away from my mouth just enough to inhale sharply through his mouth, at what I hope is arousal._

_Someone is having an argument across the park. Their distant yell breaks the reverie, and I sit back, my hand touching my lips in reflex. He is smiling, a small, intimate smile that says,_ I know. That was scarily good.

The park is too public, and they are both turned on. Alice is the one to start rolling another cigarette, but as Matty gets to his feet and throws the empty cans inside the bag, she lifts her head and makes the suggestion that fills her with anticipation.

'My place is only a fifteen minute walk, if you want to come over.'

He throws his head back and laughs, tossing his curls back. 'Bloody hell, I can't turn that down.'

'I have work tomorrow though!' she warns, despite enjoying his reaction.

'That's okay. I don't, but then, I'm not really restricted...'

She elbows him, hard. They have already had the conversation about his music, and the transient life that accompanies it. He is having a month at home whilst recording; there is no rush, and this summer, things are quiet. But it won't be like that for long, and Alice wants to enjoy him while she can.

The walk back is surreal, partly due to the alcohol and partly because she reflects upon the sight of him in relation to the sight she first encountered in the bright kitchen early that morning. His face still has a rather hypnotic, delicate quality, that she doesn't imagine anyone being able to tire of. Their hips bump together every now and then, as they walk close by each other's side.

As she turns the key in the lock, she notices it is double locked, and rejoices internally; the others are out. But they can't be complacent and fuck in the living room, since someone could return any time. He goes to pull his shoes off in the hall, but she stops him. 'Don't bother. Wait until we’re upstairs.'

Just because she wants to be careful, doesn't mean they cannot touch until they get to her room. He pulls her hips towards him in excitement, and his lips brush against the nape of her neck, the warm breath tickling. 'You smell really good.'

'Lemons,' she jokes, trying to sound calm even though at that moment she wishes he could lay her down there and then. But his hands remain on her waist as they ascend the stairs. It is completely dark outside, and the landing is streaked with light from the lamp in the street. She is silhouetted against her bedroom door as she fumbles with the handle, and at last they are inside.

They are upon each other immediately, staggering backwards to her bed in an ungainly fashion. Matty's legs buckle as they hit the bed frame, and he pulls Alice into his lap, one hand underneath her thigh and the other cupping her cheek. They make out like this for a short time, but she can sense him growing hard underneath her, the pressure building tantalisingly in their crotches. She pulls away and surveys him in the moonlight, finally letting her fingers roam up and into his glossy curls, which twist madly in every direction. His eyes are half closed in a blissful expression, and knowing that she has brought Matty this much pleasure makes her chest feel like it will burst with satisfaction and pride.

'Why did you stop?' His eyes flutter open, shining darkly.

'Sorry,' she murmurs, kissing him sweetly on either cheek before pressing her tongue against his again, this time pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He wriggles out of it, and his hands untuck her t-shirt, delving beneath to run across the warm skin of her back. His palms are cool but soft, and they quickly absorb the heat from her body.

Alice tugs the shirt over her head, and his mouth drops to her neck, and bit by bit, down to her chest, running a damp trail up her sternum and either side of her breasts. Her breathing becomes shallow as she watches his pink, sculpted lips tease elegantly her nipple, and for a moment she registers a small insecurity at the rather boyish flatness of her chest. This is squashed barely a second later when he hums appreciatively against her skin.

'Fuck. I love your body, you know?''

Feeling gratified, Alice doesn't have an immediate reply for this, other than to tip his chin upwards and offer up another open-mouthed kiss. Heat is beginning to build in her lower abdomen.

'Lie back.' She presses a hand to his chest, gently, until he is horizontal. It feels very bold to assert herself in this way, and she can see the mild thrill in Matty's face as he watches her keenly. At this angle his hard-on is obvious, its outline clearly jutting out despite being suppressed by his jeans. She lets her hand brush against it as she unfastens the button and eases the zip down.

Typically, he is wearing black Calvins, but they are easily tugged aside. She releases his erection with her hand and at this, he breaks eye contact and rolls his head back into the sheets. Alice kneels on the rug, thankful for the low height of her bed. She has only done this once or twice before, but without necessarily enjoying it. This time, the act itself feels intensely erotic, and powerful, the way she used to imagine it should be.

She takes him into her mouth, slowly at first, concentrating her tongue on the smooth pink tip and caressing the rest with her fingers. But when her head bobs further down and he hits the back of her throat, Matty can't remain still; he sits up halfway, his face losing its composure as he cradles her head in his lap and begins to gasp. He brushes the soft, dark locks of hair away from her face as she gives head, and steels himself, trying to regulate his halting breath; he would so hate to come early, simply because he couldn’t resist the way her beautiful mouth worked upon him. It would be a pity not to have the chance to wrap her legs around his waist, feel her cling to him in ecstasy, or to see her sway gracefully above him, her own face contorting uncontrollably. But like a mind-reader, Alice stops and gets to her feet again to gaze down at him, grinning playfully even whilst she licks her lips delicately and wipes them a little with her hand.

‘Getting close?’

Matty nods in a daze. She unbuttons her own trousers and gradually takes everything off until she stands before him on her bedroom floor, assured and unflinching in her nakedness. He begins to stand, to meet her, but she discourages him with a hand pressing against his chest.

‘Let me.’ He sits back on the bed, and, when she carefully unbuttons his shirt, kicks off his own shoes, socks and jeans. They are even now, she thinks with satisfaction, and her hands follow her gaze as she runs them across the tattoos on his slender arms and torso. His pale, milky skin is the perfect foil for the dark ink, deep brown eyes and shock of almost black hair that he possesses, and his own naked body is a work of art in itself, a true Adonis with a startling hard-on.

Matty can feel Alice's stare, and although he relishes it, it is growing difficult to sit there, almost painfully hard, and look directly at the girl in front of him, seemingly ready and yet pausing to merely _admire_ him instead. He wants to elicit a reaction from her, to impress with his skill as well. ‘You’re getting distracted,’ he says playfully, and when he goes to hold her wrists, she swats him away. 

‘Well, we’re not in a rush.’

‘True. Let me return the favour.’

As Alice climbs onto the bed, Matty hovers over her, seizing her hips and opening her legs before him so he can see what he is doing. The same way that he did just moments before, she cranes her neck to observe his movements. She delights at the way he appraises her with a desirous expression, his lips pursing slightly as if he is trying not to laugh or smile. An exploratory hand parts her bit by bit, its slender fingers probing the sensitive skin.

She feels a pulsing, burning anticipation in the seconds before, as he plants delicate kisses on her hip bones, his lips skimming her inner thighs and finally the top of her pubic bone. His tongue lays flat over her folds at last, warm and wet, and a gloriously peculiar feeling. It is hard for her to work out exactly what he is doing after this point, as his head dips down and he concentrates, seemingly using his lips and tongue to expert effect as the dark curls fall forward, tickling her lower stomach. His arms are wrapped around her thighs, and she feels them flex as his efforts increase. Half the pleasure is derived from the sensations this provides, but the other half is just as pleasurable for watching him labour between her thighs.

Matty is judging from her reactions what works best, and doubling down in his efforts accordingly. His tongue alternates between flickering inside her and toying with her clit, inciting her to tense and involuntarily twitch her hips; she throws her head back and swears loudly. Finally, when her hips start to roll off the bed and into his face helplessly, he knows she is getting close, and slides his hands onto her legs as he sits up.

'You- You can't leave me on the edge like that!'

'I can and I did. You must have guessed I'd stretch it out,' he teases, pulling her into his lap so that his hard-on presses against her lower stomach, mere inches from where they both crave contact. ‘All good?’

‘I will be.’ Alice likes that he checks in with her. Despite the louche, laid-back personality she has spent time with today, and their current situation, a more mannered side of his nature still breaks through like this. At last, tantalisingly, he brings a hand between her legs and eases his cock inside slowly, for it is a snug fit. Alice's eyelids are half closed in satisfaction; no boy has ever felt this deep within her, so she supposes he is the biggest she has had so far.

Matty’s hand supports her lower back, as she begins to roll forward and back again, his own hips instinctually rising to meet hers. She can see his facial expression changing as he gives in to his own pleasure, eyes rolling back and lips parted in gratification, and her own arousal ramps up further at the sight. They breathe heavily into each other’s mouths for a few moments, too busy focusing on hitting their stride to properly kiss, and then something clicks. They no longer have to concentrate on the specifics of angles and rhythms - something more primal takes over. Alice feels the tension in her shoulders unspool. She cradles Matty's head in her hands as she catches his tongue up with hers again, and their synchronicity is confirmed when they both exhale at one, particularly deep thrust. The view is a heady one, when she looks down, and she adores the sight of their bodies entwined, then colliding and enmeshing at the hip. She feels the terrible double-nature of her physical need for Matty, the desperation to be ever closer together despite this being literally impossible by now. She starts to tip her body back so that she can lean back against the sheets, and he pre-empts her intention, pulling her legs tightly around his hips as his motions propel them both into the mattress. The movements get a little wilder - she encourages him with a few words, to fuck harder - she isn’t a doll, she won’t break.

Now that they are no longer required to support her, Matty's hands roam. Alice can tell how much he enjoys encircling her narrow waist with them, feeling the gentle slopes of her body as she flexes it, and travelling up her ribcage. His thumbs graze the side of her breasts and slide around to massage her nipples, his eyes watching keenly, drinking in the image of her. Alice’s hands instinctively wander to her clit, but he wants a go too, and beats her to it with his restless fingers.

Matty knows exactly what he is doing, and her orgasm bursts through unexpectedly, in that it only makes itself known ten seconds before her climax, but thankfully takes another twenty to be fully ridden out. Alice is only half aware of the sound she makes, her palms thrown flat against the sheets and her thighs clamped tightly around the boy between them. He stops his movements, because he has little choice, she has him in such a grip, but his hand ceaselessly swirls over her.

‘How long can you go for?’ She breathes.

‘A little while more - but I could come now, to be honest, after that.’

Alice's post-orgasmic euphoria makes her prone to laughter, and Matty slips out momentarily as she giggles, to avoid peaking too early.

‘God. Come here again, I need that mouth.’ She reaches up to cup his cheek, and kisses him, quite tenderly this time. ‘Do you want me on top? I could do a second like that.’

The look in his eyes betrays his answer before he admits it. ‘Fuck, yes.’

Her legs are wobbly, and when she first straddles him and tries to balance on her knees, she collapses back onto his thighs, and this really cracks her up. Gathering her wits, she focuses again, and slides along the underside of his cock without allowing it inside. But foreplay finished a while back, and she takes him in out of impatience just a few seconds later.

Matty watches enthralled as Alice takes control. Not that she ever really lost it. He enjoys having such an assertive partner in bed, and she doesn't seem to go off into her own world as she rides him; she gazes down at him hungrily, insistently grinding out her pleasure. She finds him so physically attractive that she has to keep looking, to be acutely conscious that she is fucking _this_ boy, this beautiful boy, and he is enjoying fucking her back. Sweat forms a sheen on his forehead and chest. She leans forward as she rides him, and he thrusts into her from beneath, bringing his mouth back to her chest. Alice buries her face in Matty's hair, breathing in his heady, natural boy scent. He begins to groan fervently beneath her, the sound sending vibrations through his mouth and body. 'Oh, shit... _fuck,_ you feel so good.'

'Do it, come inside me,' she encourages him breathlessly, driving her hips forcibly against his. 'I want you to.' Groans turn to effortful swearing.

And then he does, clutching at the soft flesh of her behind and shivering into her, the way she had dared to imagine he might earlier in the day. But no imaginings match the expression on his face, the almost pained look of ecstasy that knits his brows together and parts the perfect pink mouth. Alice kisses that mouth deeply, relishing the faint, slightly alien sensation as she feels him release into her. She rocks back and forth a few times more, until he has no more to give, and they pull apart, sated at last.

They lie back for a few minutes to catch their breath, but their lips are lazily connected, and Matty's hands still roam, his deft fingers finding the spot between her legs where there is still some pleasure remaining. He watches, mesmerised, as she spasms in his arms, her own face twisting in bliss as her legs clamp around his hand.

Finally they both rest, her hips nestled back into his and her head tucked under his chin. When they wake in the morning, although it remains unsaid, they know the next day will be spent thinking about the night before, and wondering when they can reprise the encounter.

**Author's Note:**

> A multi-chapter story is currently in the works - this one-shot is just testing the waters, I'm kind of new to it so if you liked it, let me know!


End file.
